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COP¥K!GHT DEPOSIT. 



THE SEARCH FOR 
THE HOLY SPIRIT 

An Epic Poem of the Great War 
and Other Poems 

BY 

JENNIE M. & 
THOMAS J. FLYNN 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1922, by Jennie M. Flynn 



All Rights Reserved 



Made in the United States of America 



The Gorharn Press, Boston, U. S. A. 

©CI.A674686 

M 22 1922 



To 
THE WAR MOTHERS 

OF THE WORLD 



Contents 

PAGE 

A Song for Ireland 62 

Mary Immaculate 63 

Lest We Be Judged 64 

The Mother Heart 65 

Gratitude 66 

On Calvary Mountain 67 

Two Ghosts Went Walking at Marblehead . . 68 

Mother of God 69 

Fraternity 70 

In Memory of Richard Crick 71 

Ann and Catherine 72 



"And is there care in heaven? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits for these creatures base, 
That may compassion of their evils move? 
There is'- — else much more wretched were the 

case 
Of men than beasts. — " 

Edmund Spenser 



THE SEARCH FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT 
An Epic Poem of the Great War 

Argument. — The Angel Michael, guardian angel 
of the battle fields during the great war, who had 
been a soldier in the ranks before God called him 
to lay down his earthly uniform and put on the 
Guardian Angel's shield, grew weary of his earthly 
task and longed for peace. Heart broken with the 
suffering around him, Michael knelt in the forest, 
during a terrific battle and asked a favor of God. 
The favor was that peace should descend upon the 
earth. 

The Holy Vision appeared in the forest and 
told Michael to search the earth and if he could 
find one pure spirit — one steadfast soul among all 
the millions of creation — war should end and peace 
come to the earth for all time. 

The angel, with a joyful heart starts on his 
search for the holy spirit. This search takes him 
through all classes and conditions of men. 

The angel paused reflectively to lean 

Against the cluttered cannon lying near, 

And gazed in heart-felt sorrow at the scene, 

Nor marked the swiftly falling tear; 

"Through God's abiding grace their souls are safe," 

he said. 
"No prison'd spirit waits among the silent dead." 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



His name was Michael. Soldiers loved him well, 

He guided safely to the judgment seat — 

Through horrors hinting of abysmal hell — 

His dying comrades' stumbling feet; 

He loved to clasp, when death's grim panoply had 

come 
The feeble form within his arms and journey home. 

Around him on the shell-raked sodden ground 
Dim, sightless eyes white-stared the crimson sun; 
And wounds and blood were all the sunbeams found 
Now war's relentless work was done ; 
As through the smoking leaves they lingered there 

to trace 
A radiance of light upon each quiet face. 

He stood awhile in thought and sadly gazed 
Upon the ghastly scene; then slowly knelt 
And where the ruthless hand of man had razed 
Made known to God the grief he felt; 
"Almighty God," he said, "through smoke and 

shell I see 
These shattered bodies here whose souls have gone 

to Thee. 

"Shorn of all earthly semblance now are they 
To God-like man from Thy great kingdom sent; 
Tortured with gas, and torn with shell they lay 
Creation's pride, omnipotent; 

10 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

Through clouds of cruel flame with staring, sight- 
less eyes 

They seek the answer from Thy smoke-enshrouded 
eyes. 

"God of the Infinite, Whom all men claim 

Their Sovereign King, this war-torn world release, 

Send forth Thy mighty arm, and in Thy name 

Bid mortals this mad carnage cease; 

Thy servant Michael asks — no rightful claim has 

he- 
Save this, my King: that he has lived and died for 

Thee." 

And as he spoke he humbly bowed his head 
In silent awe, for like the lightning flame, 
In kingly splendor there among the dead, 
Serene, the Holy Vision came; 
So softly radiant, in truth's divinest grace, 
That Michael deep within the grass-clumps hid 
his face. 

There came a startled quiver through the trees 
Whose bare, burned branches bended gracefully, 
And whispered softly to the evening breeze 
Their joy for this great mystery: 
That in this lowly forest, stained with human blood 
In gentle, kindly grace the Holy Vision stood. 



II 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

A melody divine that angels know, 

It is the Master's voice. Adoringly 

The forest worshipped, while in accents low — 

Like some deep-sonant harmony — 

The kindly message came: "Arise, My son, attend 

To One Who loves thee, Michael, even to the end. 

"Lives there on earth one proven spirit pure, 

One heart that rises over earthly sin, 

One steadfast soul, that tempted can endure, 

War ends, and peace shall enter in ; 

If thou canst find this faithful, proven soul for me 

Thy prayer is answered, son, for all eternity." 

A breeze divine the trembling angel felt, 

And in a reverential vigil found 

The vision gone; beside him where he knelt 

A lily sprung from sodden ground. 

He soared aloft. And but the kindly, searching 

sun 
Among the silent dead, saw Michael's task begun. 

THE SEARCH 

Argument. — The angel searches the earth with- 
out success. Three years he spends in his weary 
quest in vain. He cannot find one pure steadfast 
soul among all the millions of creation. At length 
in sorrow he unconsciously discovers the forest 
where once he had seen the Holy Vision. The 
broken cannon is still there ; but the mangled bodies 

12 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



are gone. White crosses rise above them where they 
sleep. Michael raises his voice once more to heaven 
and begs of Almighty God not to call him home 
until he has once more searched among the hearts 
of men. Yielding to weariness he falls asleep in 
the forest. 

A world impervious to joy or tears 
Revolving on its solitary way, 
Compelling time to register the years, 
Compelling light to usher in the day; 
Life to its cycle clings, nor thinks of God, 
Whirled madly on, then cast beneath the sod. 

The angel knew the world, but yet he sought 
Among the wise, the noble and the great; 
No palace of the rich, no humble cot, 
No home by misery made desolate 
Wherein he did not seek, with grieving mind, 
For one pure soul on earth he could not find. 

Within the world's gigantic industries; 
Through dim, deep caverns underneath the ground ; 
Through fair wide water-ways and inland seas, 
And winding rivulets by woodlands bound; 
And through the waving prairie's golden grain 
Persistently he sought, but sought in vain. 

Invisible the angel was, yet near, 

That mortal converse might be understood ; 

13 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



A sense benign within the atmosphere 
Reminding men of Christ's great brotherhood — 
As incense burning in cathedral urn 
Awakes the souls that from perdition turn. 

Through sylvan glens where sunny, south winds 

blow ; 
Through Arab trails, and mystic eastern shades; 
Through glacier pinnacles of northern snow; 
Through mountain wastes and western palisades; 
Through low, deep marshes by the world forgot 
One soul the angel sought, yet found it not. 

But often when his hopeful heart felt sure 
That he had found the proven soul he sought, 
Some vagrant thought, iniquitous, impure, 
Would mark the soul to prove where sin had 

wrought ; 
And then the grieving angel knew that he 
Must search the whole wide earth unceasingly. 

Among rude savages he sought 

Whose souls to demon gods were sacrificed ; 

His Master died for men, yet none had brought 

These darkened souls the all-redeeming Christ; 

Yet Michael loved them well, since none may know 

The way of God with human souls below. 

He saw the reckless race for wealth efface 
All decency within a nation's soul; 

14 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



The world stood idle in the market place 
And let the sensual in man control; 
While screen and story roused the vile of earth 
To passions that would rend what gave them 
birth. 

Fat-jowld and paunchy men went idly by 
Their only occupation woman's shame; 
Slave-drivers they, all justice to defy — ■ 
Their ready tools the reeking bribe would claim ; 
And licensed crime in every town he saw 
Protected by the minions of the law. 

The cruelties of war had left their mark, 
Crime followed crime in blazing infamy ; 
And yet the spineless ones lost not a spark 
Of their smooth riveted complacency; 
In horror Michael watched them as they went 
Through reeking ways of sin and shame content. 

In the dark night when all around was still 

Engulfed in weariness earth's millions slept, 

Close-winged and poised on some far distant hill 

The angel for a lost creation wept; 

Enslaved in folly, to all peace denied 

This vagrant world for which his Master died. 

Before his clear angelic vision passed 
The great amusement places of the world: 



15 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Abandoned scenes where often sinners last 
Sad hours on earth were riotously whirled 
On, on to Satan's marching — his to be 
Through all the ages of eternity. 

No more the pure, the elevated theme, 

The master touch in melody and art; 

The golden message from the mind supreme, 

To liberate the soul and win the heart; 

In blind relentless retrogression men 

Had backward turned the wheels of time again. 

The theater, the screen, the dances whirled, 

The avenues of literary art, 

To banish the ideal from the world 

Had played their own humiliating part; 

While nations leagued together had unfurled 

The banner of oppression for the world. 

A sign of progress, military skill, 

In intellect or science to procure 

Some war-like method to destroy or kill; 

Some scheme to make the citizen endure 

The giant combines, legally enshrined 

That from the wants of men their millions grind. 

In this great war the world had sacrificed 
The flower of the earth for liberty; 
And yet by those who dared to speak of Christ, 
Were men enslaved, who should be ever free: 

16 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



The little nations of the earth in tears 
Would greet the tyranny of future years. 

What travesty of human justice this 

That Michael heard from men pledged to the 

right: 
"The enemy this lesson must not miss, 
The war is over now, and might is right. 
We'll change the map of Europe, strip the Hun 
To drive the lesson home that we have won." 

Two silent representatives there were 

Within the world's great council; summoned not 

By any human agency, but there 

When conscience died and honor was forgot 

The Angel Michael, who from sin recoils 

Met Satan with the seekers of the spoils. 

Three weary years had served their time and gone 

Since Michael started on his earthly quest, 

When all unconsciously he chanced upon 

A well-remembered scene forever blest; 

The broken cannon there, while through the wood 

White crosses gleamed where once the vision stood. 

The evening sun in crimson beauty shone 
Gilding the bracken and young, springing trees; 
But Michael sank disconsolate, alone 
Beside the broken cannon on his knees; 
Too weary he for prayer, but sadly wept, 
While unseen angels kindly vigil kept. 

17 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Deep anger should have filled his grieving soul 

And yet it did not — memory was there : 

A baby's face upon the ocean's roll 

A grey-haired mother's sad, heart-broken prayer; 

A maiden crucified ; Ah ! Michael knew 

The world had sinned, the world had suffered too. 

With grieving heart he raised his tear-dimmed eyes 
To that dear home wherein his Master dwelt; 
Where angel friends rejoiced beyond the skies, 
While he within this lowly forest knelt; 
"Dear Lord," he said, "on earth I could not find 
One steadfast heart, one pure, unsullied mind. 

"But yet, dear Master, I would search again 
Throughout this universe, through all the years; 
Seeing the shame the infamy of men, 
Seeing their suffering, their bitter tears; 
I cannot leave them in their misery 
Though heaven's joys I never more may see. 

"Once more throughout all nations I shall go, 
From northern hills to sunny southern clime, 
For one pure spirit that all men may know 
This world has been released from war and crime; 
Yet I am lonely now, Dear Lord, this wood 
Reveals the spot where once Thy feet have stood. 

"Thou hast within Thy compass those whose love 
But equals Michael's love; Ah! yes, dear Lord, 

18 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



No happiness have I, save when above 

I sing the praises of Thy living Word; 

My Master died, that peace should come to men 

Here let me stay until peace dawns again." 

Thus spoke the angel Michael, once the friend 

Of all the courts of heaven; joyfully 

He joined angelic melodies that blend 

Eternal praises to the Trinity ; 

Yet his great love for men desire had brought 

To find this soul that his loved Master sought. 



MICHAEL DISCOVERS THE PURE SPIRIT 

Argument. — Michael, who has fallen asleep in 
the forest, awakens in alarm to discover a mortal 
near him, bending over the soldiers' graves, and 
breathing a prayer for the dead. Something 
familiar in the woman's form awakens a joyful 
wonderment in Michael's heart. His own dear 
mother, by the wonderful ways of God, knelt be- 
side him there within this foreign wood. A blind- 
ing light reveals to his soul the knowledge, that 
while he had been searching the entire earth, a 
steadfast soul had- been there within his own home, 
the faithful, loyal soul of the War Mother of 
America, who had given her dearest treasures to her 
God and her country in a spirit of submission and 
love. 



19 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



At length engulfed in gloomy lassitude 

Amid the soft, green grasses Michael laid 

His weary head ; around him solitude 

Of fragrant fern-enbowered shade; 

So sweet the air, in solemn, forest silence deep, 

The angel's care forgotten was in peaceful sleep. 

Gay plumaged choristers in joy around 

The cannon wandered, or with widened wing 

Arose in graceful circles from the ground, 

In melody of welcoming; 

From out the leaves, aglow with friendly, timid 

grace, 
A squirrel brushed with kindly touch the sleeper's 

face. 

The crimson sun bent low to breathe farewell 

A miracle of beauty in the sky ; 

From distant lanes the softly tinkling bell, 

Of drowsy cattle strolling by 

Soon banished sleep, and Michael stood alert, 

amazed, 
For where he stood the searching eyes of mortal 

gazed. 

He looked beyond the cluttered cannon where 
Green mounds arose; a woman bending low 
Among the snow white crosses, had placed there 
The blossoms that all forests know; 
And breathed a prayer in humble, reverential quest, 
That soldier souls might ever know eternal rest. 

20 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Straight springing shoots of woodland brambles 

bent 
In benediction at the kindly deed; 
The brake caressed her hands beneficent, 
For here was proof that heaven's creed 
Was not forgotten; man would from his peril 

wake, 
And through the depths of bitter tears repentance 

make. 

She raised her face ; Ah, then did Michael start, 
And blinding tears suffused his vision clear, 
He bent above her, while his trembling heart 
Beat softly that she might not hear; 
What joy was this? what strange, sweet call of 

earth had brought 
His mother here, though her dear eyes could see 

him not. 

A blinding light awoke within his soul, 
The Spirit Pure; Ah, could it be that He 
Whose mighty strength the ways of men control, 
Had caused this wondrous thing to be: 
Had summoned her unto this far off foreign land, 
That he, her son, might learn her worth and under- 
stand. 

Three weary years he travelled far and wide 
Across the earth, through bitter blinding tears, 
While in his home there had been sanctified 
A steadfast soul throughout the years; 

21 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



A shining soul that earthly trial could not dim 
Who all his life with tender love had cared for 
him. 

His thoughts returned again to childhood days 
Within the home that knew her loving heart ; 
He searched his mind in vain for evil ways, 
Her life had been the better part ; 
True to her God and faithful to her country's law 
Had lived this brave war-mother of America. 

"Dear Lord," he said, "is this the proven soul? 

Ah, Michael must not, cannot be the one 

To judge her loving heart." "Thy doubts control," 

He heard, "and thou shalt hear, My son." 

The angel knelt; once more within that blessed 

wood 
In grace serene, the radiant Holy Vision stood. 

The trembling angel saw his mother rise 

Beyond the very cannon where he stood, 

And greet a mortal, that to his surprise 

Approached them in the silent wood: 

His clever cousin Jean; perhaps, she too had come 

To seek him here and bring his lifeless body home. 

"What nonsense, Mary, to be kneeling there 
So thinly clad, upon that sodden ground — 
As though that God of yours could hear your 
prayer — 

22 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



What consolation have you found 

For all your tears? This God you serve it seems 

to me 
Has treated you throughout the years right cruelly. 

"He took your husband ere his youth was past 

And left you here to carry on alone ; 

He took your home in one financial blast 

And in another all you own ; 

Not satisfied, he took from you your stalwart sons 

And sent them here as targets for the German guns. 

"I have no patience with the weakling soul 
That stoops supinely when the rod smites low; 
You owe Him nothing — you, yourself control 
The life you lead, the path you go; 
What puzzles me you're not a cringing hypocrite 
And yet what cause have you to thank the Infinite?" 

In horror Michael bent; his mother's eyes 
Gazed upward where the crimson splendor shone, — 
As though her gaze would penetrate the skies 
To reach the gentle Saviour's throne; 
While on her cheek he saw the burning blush of 

shame 
That friend of hers should thus insult His sacred 

name. 

"He gave me love," she breathed, "a husband true, 
And friendship that will last until the end; 

23 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



He gave me health and strength the right to do, 

And courage that no storm shall bend; 

He gave me sons — my darlings proudly plead for 

me — 
They died defending their great country's liberty. 

"For this I love Him, Jean ; in every flower, 

In every budding leaf I see His face; 

He comes to me in sacred, silent hour 

With gentle, all-inspiring grace; 

And though my two brave boys went out to face the 

foe, 
God willed it, Jean; no other will my soul shall 

know. 

"Beneath the ocean rolling restlessly 

My youngest laddie lies; and I have come 

To see these waves that hold the heart of me, 

'Twill give me strength to bear me home; 

And through this land where Michael's weary feet 

have trod 
I'll seek his grave — my first born son, who rests 

with God. 

"Each mound whereon I kneel, a mother's heart 

In dreaming sees it rise forever here; 

Shall I refuse the ministering part 

To heroes that the world holds dear? 

From every soldier grave in France a prayer should 

rise, 
To bring the wealth of mother love beyond the 

skies. 

24 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



"Though my dear lads I never more shall see, 

Yet all the sorrows of this earthly sod 

Can never take away this joy from me: 

That my two sons are with their God. 

A little while and life's dim pages closed shall be, 

God grant that I may meet them in eternity." 

They turned away; the angel raised his head 

To where his gentle Master shining stood; 

Angelic choristers, by cherubs led, 

Adored him in the silent wood ; 

"Thou heardest, son ;" and Michael knew his 

search was o'er 
The Blessed One, within the wood would come no 

more. 



THE PURE SPIRIT 

Argument. — Michael discovers that his mother's 
steadfast soul is the pure spirit that the Master 
longs for. He follows the boat that bears his 
mother home to America, in wide-winged tireless 
flight above the ocean. He enters once again the 
old, familiar home and sees each well known 
scene. 

Beside his mother when she breathes her evening 
prayer, Michael hears her petition God to take her 
home, that she may meet her loved ones in eternity. 
The angel of death enters and claims his tribute 
from life. Her dying eyes recognize Michael as 

25 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



he stands beside her chair. Michael bears her pure 
spirit to heaven, where the Master rewards him 
by sending peace to earth for all time. 

The search was ended; yet in Michael's heart, 
Not joy, but sorrow came to counsel him: 
It seemed his dear one must fulfill earth's part 
Before she joined the circling seraphim ; 
And yet those broken bodies in the wood 
Where once in grace the Holy Vision stood. 

The crash of gun; the scowl of cruel hate, 

As man to man the gleaming steel sank in ; 

The snarling, grasping greed commensurate 

With each succeeding century of sin ; 

The greed that trapped men's souls with treachery — 

Though millions died the world would not be free. 

His thoughts returned to days when sin essayed 

To sink its infamy within his soul; 

And he had faced it calmly, unafraid, 

His Master's strength all evil could control; 

Yet now he trembled lest the world should see 

The Cross again upraised on Calvary. 

The sacrifice of war had been in vain 
Humanity was now the trader's prize; 
Through reeking ways his vision saw again 
The death of freedom in dull, staring eyes; 
The trail of fire and sword; the curse of crime 
Still ushered in each golden hour of time. 

26 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Beside the boat that bore his mother home 
The angel travelled, swiftly, tirelessly, 
Wide-winged above the ocean's surging foam, 
Serene in calm angelic majesty; 
Locked deep within his heart this joy to him : 
His mother's soul would join the seraphim. 

No weary waiting in that outer world — 
That Purgatory, where sad souls must wait — 
But straight to God her spirit should be whirled, 
Within his loving arms to heaven's gate; 
And suffering on earth should find release 
Forever in the blessed joys of peace. 

Within their old, familiar home he went, 

Close by her side through every well known scene ; 

Through Laddie's room — the boy whom war had 

sent, 
To die beneath the ocean's rolling green ; 
And when his mother breathed her evening prayer, 
The Angel Michael knelt beside her chair. 

He heard her murmuring his father's name, 
His brother's and his own, and soldiers brave, 
Whose death had won for them the hero's claim 
Through shot and shell, or underneath the wave; 
And then Jie heard "Lord, grant that I may see 
Soon, soon in death my darling ones with Thee." 

Within the room another presence came 
Well known to Michael: the sad angel death, 

27 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Another tribute from this life to claim 
Who yielded him her last departing breath; 
Yet ere she died she saw beside her chair 
The Angel Michael calmly waiting there. 

Once more the earth in peaceful plenty blooms; 
Once more man worships with his brother man 
The one true God; no fire of hate consumes, 
But boundless love for God's eternal plan; 
No soldier souls has Michael now to shield 
From evil spirits on the battle-field. 

But often when angelic voices ring, 
He steals away and seeks the Saviour's feet, 
And humbly begs of heaven's gentle King, 
Safe passage-way to earth, once more to greet 
Sad souls disconsolate, that he may prove 
The way to heaven lies through boundless love. 



28 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



THE LEGEND OF THE PERFECT JOY 

A Leffend of St. Francis of Assisi 

St. Francis of Assisi chanced to be 

Abroad one wintry day with Brother Leo, 

To reach Maria degli Angeli 

Before the storm, they pleaded low, "Laus Deo;" 

The wind was cold that stung their naked feet, 

Their gowns were old and stiffened with the sleet. 

Each cutting gust that tingled in the air 
Within their nostrils found a breath that trembled ; 
Yet in their souls a reverie of prayer 
Ail-patiently their straying thoughts assembled; 
With hurried step, through misty pathways dim, 
St. Francis reached his friend and counselled him. 

"O Brother Leo, though it please our Lord 
That all the Brothers Minor should in glory 
Reveal God's word, and through His grace accord 
To leave the world the martyr's faithful story; 
Yet write this, Leo, note it well with care, 
The Perfect Joy is not discovered there." 

Through silent ways they went, when once again 
St. Francis roused his friend from meditation: 

29 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



"O Brother Leo, to give sight to men; 
To watch the dumb in blissful exultation 
Speak at thy touch ; to animate the dead 
Is good, — yet not the Perfect Joy," he said. 

Still further on they walked the saint once more 
From Leo's mind no gentle thought concealing; 
Admired the wisdom of those gone before, 
Who gave the world their prophecies revealing; 
" 'Tis well to know that men are comforted, 
Yet not the Perfect Joy," St. Francis said. 

Half frozen now the stinging sleet they face, 
The saint still speaking, while his accents quivered : 
"The Brothers Minor — may they merit grace — 
Have to the leper gentle ease delivered, 
And saved the outcasts of the earth from sin; 
Yet Perfect Joy is not contained therein. 

"O Brother Leo, little sheep of God 
If men could know the stars, the planets' motion, 
The way of trees, rocks, birds, of men who trod 
This sinful earth with semblance of devotion ; 
The secrets of the soul, the heart laid bare — 
The Perfect Joy would not be written there." 

Now as they walked came down the blinding snow, 
While white crowned mountains sentinelled their 
vision ; 

30 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



And Leo questioned in a murmur low — 

The while he waited for the saint's decision — 

"Yet if the infidel to Christ be led?" 

" 'Tis not the Perfect Joy," St. Francis said. 

"O Little Father, tell me in God's name 

What Joy is this that good deeds may not waken? 

Should Leo never this great vision claim, 

Then were his soul all-sorrowful, forsaken." 

"Sancta Maria degli Angeli," 

St. Francis breathed, "may bring this Joy to thee." 

"When we arrive amidst this snow and rain, 
Benumbed with cold, exhausted with starvation ; 
Should we no shelter greet, but rude refrain, 
The porter's voice in angry execration 
Shout 'Who are you?' 'Thy brothers,' we reply, 
And he our plea for shelter should deny." 

"If rudely his abusive voice should raise: 

'You lie, you two lewd fellows, sin malignant 

Is in your faces; you have spent your days 

In stealing from the poor, from hearts benignant;' 

And as he bade us go his doors disclosed 

The warmth and shelter that his deed opposed. 

"If thus abused and rudely turned away — 
Exhausted, starved, yet patiently enduring — 
Though all the bitter hours from night till day 
Instead of aid were cold, bleak death procuring; 

3i 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Yet love within our hearts, belief that he 
Had spoken but the truth to such as we. 

"That God had prompted him; He knew our need, 
Base, evil pride, insidious, compelling 
Must be subdued ; no angry word or deed 
Should cloud the heart wherein the Christ is 

dwelling : 
Note, Leo, he who can himself control, 
Shall find the Perfect Joy within his soul. 

"Above all gifts the Holy Spirit sends, 

To conquer thy own self is all-transcendent; 

The soul that suffers wrong, yet humbly bends, 

Shall rise to God all-glorious, resplendent; 

The perfect joy is that which has sufficed, 

to suffer evil for the love of christ." 



32 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



DISCOVERY OF NIAGARA FALLS 

Louis Hennepin, a Franciscan priest, left Quebec 
late in October, 1678, with two companions, in a 
small bark canoe. He arrived in Kingston. 

He joined La Salle, came west in a ten-ton 
boat and was frozen in ice off Toronto. 

Dec. 5 th of the same year, they broke the ice 
from their little ship and crossed Lake Ontario. 
La Salle went up Eastern side, Father Hennepin 
climbed Western side, discovered Falls on Decem- 
ber 6th, 1678, camping same night at Chippawa. 
Parkman, vol 5, — T. J. F. 

"French in Canada." 

Father Louis Hennepin 
(1678) 

From sturdy walls of the Recollect, 

Through cold October sleet, 
He left Quebec in his capote gray, 
Straight west through street of great Champlain, 
South he passed down Ship Workers' Lane, 
Coarse, peaked hood aslant to the rain, 

And sandals on his feet. 

On his back an altar in miniature, 

High carven in relief, 
St. Francis' cord held strong and secure. 

33 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



A merciful way his cord he had tied, 
Sparing a man Who had shamefully died: 
Blest Mary's Son Who was crucified 
Each pierced hand to a thief. 



His boat was bark from a magic tree, 

A wondrous birchen prison; 
Two voyageurs, the priest made three; 
Its sides were scored, its ribs were spliced, 
'Twas pitiful small, but yet sufficed 
To carry three and the Spirit of Christ — 

Him who had truly risen. 



South-west sailed wedges of flying geese, 

He followed a course they held. 
He struck his camp where the St. Maurice 
Came rushing to meet St. Lawrence's tides, 
From southern slopes down high divides, 
A gloom from the Lonely Lauren-tides, 
And pine tree sentinelled. 



He climbed Lachine, south-westward steered, 

To stem a rushing shoal, 
A flying mane green-white which veered, 
Where cedared isles of misty glades 
Broke wild and watery enfilades, 
To foam spun feathery white cascades, 

Nor stayed its eastward roll. 

34 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Came Marians' steeds in fearful surge, 
Down Sault's great rock-walled bed, 
Swift running under a savage scourge, 
Fiercely on age-long eastern quest, 
Flanks a' foam, high roaring abreast, 
Long ere he gained their topmost crest, 
His paddle stained with red! 

West by south up Rapide du Plat, 

His paddle ever played, 
Through land of the savage Iroquois, 
At vigil of Souls, on a ghostly sea, 
Telling his beads in an ecstasy, 
He made his fort on the Cataraqui, 

High-hearted — unafraid. 

Skirting Frontenac's northern side, 

Ever a' west he sailed; 
Crossing in blessed advent tide, 
He landed on great Niagara's shore, 
South he turned to a sullen roar; 
His Crucifix on his heart he bore, 

Never his spirit failed. 

"Glory to God whose hand did forge 

This wondrous watery road." 
On ragged rim of a fearful gorge, 
South he toiled through brambles and moss, 
Passed rapids raging, like souls a'toss; 
He blessed himself with the sign of the Cross, 

At the cliff where the cataract flowed! 

35 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Good Francis' cord was quick untied, 

Small waxen tapers alight, 
He said the Mass of the sanctified. 
South he turned through a wintry haze, 
His eyes were glowing, his heart ablaze, 
By Chippawa's flow, with a song of praise, 

He pitched his camp for night. 

O' Humble Server of God's good laws, 

Your saga will ever be sung, 
Round snowy camps of the Kanadas; 
High, "golden lettered," your name shall glow, 
On beauteous curve of her magic bow, 
High arching Niagara's mighty flow, 

Old — but forever young. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 
November 8, 19 19. 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



THE LITTLE KING 

I may not love the great kings, 
Kings who rule below; 
Frigid hearts; false tongues; 
Scheming ways and cold; 
But I can love the Little King 
The prophets sang of old ; 
The King to Whom Wise Men from afar- 
Led by a soft and silvery star 
Brought myrrh and frankincense and gold. 

I may not trust the great kings 

Trembling in their fear, 

The pathways to their palaces 

Are paved with skulls of men; 

But I can trust the Little King 

Of blessed Bethlehem; 

And I can follow His silvery star — 

Like Gaspar, Melchoir, Balthazar — 

'Twill lead me home again. 

I cannot pray the great kings, 
My heart is chilled with dread; 
Cruel kings; cold kings; 
Pride- ful unto death; 
But I can pray the Little King 
Of Lowly Nazareth. 



37 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

O Little King of Juda 
Lift up this fearful pall; 
O Jesus, Mary's Little Son 
Have mercy on us all. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 
Christmas, 191 7. 



ON PRESENTING A HAT TO AN IRISH 
POET 

Here's my hand, and here's your hat, 
If Custom's-man don't plunder it, 

'Twill fit your poll, 

And on my soul, 
'Twill make you younger than you're old, 
And grace the face in under it! 

Here's hoping you will ever hear 
Above the world's roar and din, 

Baying of Bran 

And brave Skolawn; 
Pipes of the Sluagh Shee at dawn 
And the Dord Fiann of Valiant Finn! 

May fiery Maeve and Piobaire Rhue, 
And Tir-na-n-og's high youthful cheers, 

Under your bonnet 

Lilt a sonnet, 
Forever and another day 
To sing you down the coming years. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 

38 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



IN MEMORIAM 

Daniel P. McGarrity — A university student of 
Elmwood, Ont. Enlisted in Canadian army. 
Killed in action at Ypres, June 3, 1916; aged 19. 

He loved the home his people made between 
The little hills; the woods and every place 
From mighty Huron to the swift Saugeen ; 
He loved them white with snow, or brave with 

green ; 
And old and young were glad to see his face, 
Or meet him on the road a joke to pass 
And give him greetings come home from Mass. 

He loved his mother and his father grey; 

His ways were their ways, he had learned it so; 

To them it seems but one short yesterday 

Since at their knees they taught him how to pray 

And trained his footsteps steadily to go. 

He loved his brothers and his sisters all 

He loved his home and heard his country's call. 

He loved the faith his fathers loved of yore, 

He learned it lovingly when but a lad ; 

The grand old faith his people had before 

He loved the self-same way, nor wanted more, 

Just to possess it made his brave heart glad ; 

The faith which taught him how to die and live 

To love his country and his friends forgive. 

39 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

Why speak of sorrow when it only tends 
To common custom? When the story's told, 
He fought the fight for country, home and friends, 
What need has sorrow here to make amends; 
The pulses of his heart were purest gold; 
And heroes' deeds in every land and clime 
Will be remembered to the ends of time. 

The roaring guns and blasts of iron showers 

That sing his requiem over old Ypres, 

He hears them not in God's eternal hours; 

But southern winds, and Belgium's loveliest flowers, 

Will blow about him on a happier day; 

And in our hearts his memory will be green, 

As maples growing by his own Saugeen. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 



40 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



TRIBUTE TO 
SIR GILBERT CHESTERTON 

On Reading the Ballad of the White Horse 

A mighty man is Chesterton : 

Gigantic, towering vast ; 

God's banner of truth on his vision sails 

O'er Danish raiders, o'er Alfred's Tales, 

Held high aloft to the fiercest gales, 

Spiked splendid to his mast. 

His sane eyes sweep great spaces where 

No king on earth is throned, — 

Like Gaspar, Melchoir, Balthazar, — 

He sees through a mist neath a wondrous star 

Blest Mother and Babe in the distance far 

Soft golden horizoned. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 



41 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



CHIPPAWA 

O have you seen Miss Chippawa 

In summery dress of velvet green? 
She lives beside Niagara 

Tucked in from swiftly running stream. 
No widow's crepe adorns her shape, 

No sorrowing garments, sadly hung; 
But billowy green of emerald sheen, 

And willowy plumes are round her flung. 

A modest maid is Chippawa, 

Down summer's twilight leafy lane, 
She's not amiss to grant a kiss, 

Or coax you to return again; 
Bold Buckhorn's smiles her heart beguiles, 

And lovely Navy reaching south, 
From down the bay the north winds spray 

Niagara's kisses on her mouth. 

A knowing girl is Chippawa, 

That swift Niagara cannot coax; 
She might agree, if only he 

Would bide awee and meet her folks; 
The Bard of Ayr loved Bonnie Doon, 

The Lee is loved in Erin's clime ; 
Niagara swift sends souls adrift; 

But Chippawa holds this heart of mine. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 
42 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



ST. PATRICK 

O Patrick of the golden tongue, 

So silvery soft and musical, 

Amazed the bards enraptured hung; 

And never since was Gospel sung 

So lovingly, so lyrical: 

Teaching the Word — to them a dream 

The Story of the Nazarene; 

Showing the light through gleam by gleam, 

A God's most blessed miracle! 

O Patrick of the blazing zeal, 
A flaming fire of poetry; 
Your word was not held up by steel: 
God's truth and justice — peal on peal 
Of Faith and Love and Charity. 
Long has your teaching stood the test, 
Spread by your sons from East to West, 
In all the world we hold it best: 
St. Patrick's Blessed Trinity. 

O Patrick firm is your faith in our hearts 

Down through the weary years, 

High over gold or wealth of the east; 

The long, long years of famine or feast; 

The scorn of a world's jeers; 

Blood red ran the Marne, the Lys and the Aisne, 

43 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

But Ireland's rivers by Saxon and Dane, 
Ran redder still, again and again 
With your children's blood and tears. 

Today good Saint on your festival 

Our faith is true and strong; 

The staunch old faith that our fathers had — 

The faith that still makes your children glad, 

The faith that conquers wrong. 

Keep thou our feet that we will not stray 

From truth, from light, from God's good way, 

And lead us good saint to a better day 

Of happiness and song. 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 
St. Patrick's Day, 19 19. 



44 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



THE SISTER ISLANDS OF NIAGARA 

(The Islands are Located in the Swiftest Currents 

of the River, Among the Rapids Above 

the Cataract.) 

Undauntedly they face the enfilades, 

The Sister Islands, breaking sturdily 

The rush of troubled waters. All around 

Is turbulent destruction, and the whirl 

Of madly rushing rapids, like white ghosts, 

Hurled on to the abysmal sacrifice. 

Relentlessly the waters lash the isles 

In maddened fury, hastening the day 

When rock-bound sides shall crumble to the touch 

And disappear; when centuries shall greet 

No frowning precipice. Time's far release 

Shall mark the free, untrammeled interflow 

Of mighty waters through Niagara's gorge 

Forever rolling onward to the sea. 

The Sister Islands Of Niagara! — 
What battles of the soul are fought and won 
Within .their fern-embowered traceries, 
Where love immortal triumphs, and the light 
Of far remembrance brings the doubting heart 
Divine forgiveness. Sad, despondent souls 
That see within the rapids' swirling foam 
Release from grief, awaken tremuluous: 
God's sunshine overhead, the song of bird, 

45 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



The circling sea-gulls in their whirling flight, 

The trees in stately majesty, the rocks 

Whose barren sides give out rich tufts of green 

All breathe of life supernal, infinite; 

Awaken faith in God's eternal plan 

For this great universe. Who knows this faith 

Shall falter not in dim uncertainties, 

But wait in glad serenity of heart 

Until the soul's great victory shall come. 



46 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



IN CHATEAU THIERRY 

In Chateau Thierry, where my laddie sleeps, 
God's white -winged angel tender vigil keeps, 
Among the reeds where circling moonbeams play, 
Driving the shadows fearlessly away; 
Below the hill where broken roads divide, 
White gleaming crosses rise on every side; 
My laddie's cross a sacred cross shall be 
Because of One Who died to set men free. 

In Chateau Thierry through a night of fear, 
They heard the tramp of grey hordes drawing near ; 
Trembling they saw — through God's most blessed 

will — 
America's brave sons upon the hill ; 
Singing they came in rhythm glorified, 
That mingled with their heart-beats when they died. 

Last night I heard — through some sweet mystery — 
My laddie's song: the song of victory; 
Be still my heart; this gentle lad of mine 
Has borne the burden of the Law Divine; 
No grief of mine shall break his peaceful rest; 
His song was God's sweet song, forever blest. 



47 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



LEST WE FORGET 

Dear Lord, we see from out the midst of tears 

The long, unbroken chain of golden years 

That Thou hast given us; but can we see 

One single day that we have given Thee? 

One single day with white sweet hours complete, 

To lay in spotless shining at Thy feet ! 

From early morning until set of sun, 
So many things are waiting to be done ; 
So many small, unfinished tasks we know; 
So many friends who softly come and go; 
So many cares that press unceasingly; 
Wilt Thou forgive us if we seek not Thee? 

Thou knowest every act that we may do, 
Thou knowest all the false hearts and the true; 
Thou knowest if an evil thought remain, 
And when we leave the depths to fall again. 
Thou knowest all — and still we ask to be 
Forgiven, if we should not seek for Thee. 



48 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



IN BETHLEHEM 

Tenderly softly down the years 

The Christmas story steals, 

Laying aside its hopes and fears 

The world adoring kneels; 

Calmly, prayerfully to and fro 

The Wise Men softly tread, 

And Joseph worships the sweet surprise, 

And the love that shines from the mother's eyes, 

As she nestles the Christ King's head. 

Peacefully quietly down the years 

The shepherds gently keep, 

In silent prayer, their watchful care, 

O'er the little Christ King's sleep ; 

The moonbeams glide o'er a mountain side, 

Where the shade of a cross may rest; 

But the angel's lullaby sweet and low — 

In the tender lovelight's radiant glow — 

Will cradle the Christ King's nest. 

Anxiously, hopefully down the years 

A world grown sad with fear, 

Watches the light beyond the tears, 

The little Christ draws near; 

Bringing rest to the weary heart, 

For anger and strife must cease, 

Before the love in the Christ King's heart 

The clouds of sorrow dissolve, depart, 

In the wonderful light of peace. 

49 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Joyously, gladly down the years 

The Christmas chorus rings, 

Laying aside its smiles and tears 

The world adoring sings; 

And the little Christ King slumbers on, 

But the Christmas story stays, 

Its wonderful, magical strength to prove, 

A beacon of light from the Father's love, 

To lead us to better days. 



50 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



DUFFERIN ISLANDS 

Niagara Falls, Ontario 

A circle in a wooded screen, 
Remote from rampant travel stress, 
Where nature in ripe loveliness 
Achieves her miracles of green. 

Surrounding it the maples rise, 
To crown the blossom'd wonders low, 
That mingle with the water's glow, 
In mirror'd gleam from summer skies. 

Beneath the circling rainbow rays 
By cloister'd cloud-tops glorified, 
Two friendly nations side by side, 
In peace and plenty greet the days. 

No soldier tramp, no threatening gun, 
To mar with hate this scene sublime, 
Where God's sweet emblem bides with time 
To bless two lands where love has won. 

O Sister land of Deathless Fame, 

On Dufferin's Isle we seem to see — 

Through marching hosts of Liberty — 

Niagara's sons who died for thee, 

And in their life-blood lives thy name. 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



DEAR SACRED HEART 

Dear Sacred Heart, so reconciled in sweetest love 

to pay 
Thy Father's price, list to Thy child and teach 

me to obey. 

And as Thou gavest all of Thine, all that Thou 

hadst to give, 
Fold in Thine own this heart of mine and teach 

me to forgive. 

And in the way of fervent love for Thy abiding 

grace, 
Lead me some day in realms above to see my 

Saviour's face. 

Kneeling beside His heavenly throne, bearing mine 

humble part, 
Only content that I atone and rest within His 

Heart. 



52 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



WHEN LOVE GROWS WEARY 

When love grows weary and he fain would go, 
To dwell in other hearts, then woulds't thou know, 
'Twere best to keep him not, hold wide the door, 
And bid him gently to return no more; 
No surer thing than this, neath sky or sea, 
That when world weary, he'll return to thee. 

Then be not idle while he is away, 
But guard thy heart with patience to obey 
His lightest whisper, lest he seek thy door, 
Again to wander and return no more; — 
Before the light of memory hold the screen 
Of kindness, lest some grave, sad fault be seen, 
Then will he stay and grieve not to depart, 
Content to rest forever in thy heart. 

AGNUS DEI 

Lamb of God in meek atonement taken, 
Thy sacred heart betrayed, denied, forsaken; 
Have mercy on us. 

Lamb of God, if ever we should grieve Thee, 
Or wound Thy heart; that we may never leave 
Thee, 

Have mercy on us. 

Lamb of God, when darkness o'er us stealing 
Hides our loved ones, naught but death revealing, 
Give us peace. 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



FOUND IN PASSING 

Something for the wounded hearts 

Weary of the night; 
Something for the worn hands 

Working for the right; 
All the nights are darkest 

Just before the dawn; 
And the sun shines brightest 

When the storm has gone. 

Nature's fairest flowers bloom 

Brighter for the rain; 
Yesterday's sad moments 

Never come again; 
Sorrows that surround you, 

Like the good you do, 
Soon will be a memory, 

Left to comfort you. 

Somewhere in the distance sleeps 

One you love the best, 
Cold, still hands are folded 

On the quiet breast; 
Somewhere, it is written, 

All the world may see, 
"Blessed is the mourner: 

I will solace thee." 

54 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



Do not seek for happiness, 

Keep your conscience true; 
In the great tomorrow, 

It will come to you; 
Bringing rest to tired hands, 

Bidding sorrows cease, 
Healing all the heart wounds 

In the light of peace. 



55 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



SUNRISE ON THE HILLSIDE 

Sunrise on the hillside when the morning brightens, 
Pine trees and poplar leaves, winds above me 

whirled ; 
Dewy-skirted cloud tops while the whole air 

lightens 
With a trembling radiance circling round the 

world. 

Sunrise on the hillside where the wild grapes 

cluster ; 
Breaking through the bracken when the night is 

done ; 
Song notes from silver throats, every heart a 

fluster, 
Piping out its greetings to the all-embracing 

sun. 

Sunrise on the hillside when the heart is breaking, 
Bleak days and reeking ways from the dripping 

sword ; 
Yet above the gladdened hills steals the sunlight 

waking 
Tender, hopeful visions of the ever-risen Lord. 

Sunrise on the hillside near the streamlet flowing, 
Shadowing the city street, reeking in the sun, 
Holding me, enfolding me yet my heart is going 
To the wooded hillside when its earthly work is 
done. 

56 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 

SOLID COMFORT 

(A camping resort at Port Colborne, Ont.) 

Where the waves in sportive play 
Never weary all the day, 
Casting up their sparkling spray 

And soft, shining foam, 
Near the water's snowy crest 
There does "Solid Comfort" rest, 
Weary nature's cosy nest 

And the camper's home. 

There the sweetest melodies 
From the warblers in the trees 
Echo ever on the breeze; 

And at morning's break 
Steals the sun, a beacon bright 
From the gloomy shades of night, 
Casting rays of joyous light 

O'er the shining lake. 

Bathing in the waters clear, 
Fishing on the "old long pier," 
Watching white-winged vessels steer 

For the harbor's light; 
Pine trees' fragrance in the air, 
Happy faces everywhere, 
Silver moonbeams soft and fair 

Crown the summer night. 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



From the crowded city's heat, 
Glaring lights and noisy street, 
To this peaceful shelter sweet, 

Weary travelers come 
Joyfully, for well they know, 
Cool and strong the breezes blow, 
Fresh and pure their hearts will grow 

In their summer home. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



SUMMER'S PRISONER 

Mr. Bumble Bee is buzzin', 

Mr. Yellow Jack, his cousin, 

Are looking just like berries made of gold. 

Mr. Tanager and Robin 

Hop around, both ends a-bobbin', 

Both so happy that they haven't time to scold. 
O, there's fairies in the beeches, 
You can hear them as they play; 
Little green men, little brown men 
Going swishing through the hay; 
And if I could quit my labors 
They might be my loving neighbors! — 
But what's the use of talking 
When you can't get off today? 

Up the creek the boys are swimmin' 

Far away from work and wimmen, 

With ne'er a coat at all but one of tan. 

I can see them through the window 

Brown as any heathen Hindoo 

Or statuettes in bronze from old Japan. 
O, there's fairies in the river 
By the willows on the bay, 
An' Bob Murry saw the ripples 
On the water where they play! 
And I know that I could find them, 
For I'd swim right up behind them ! — 
But what's the use of talking 
When you can't get off today? 

— Thomas J. Flynn. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



THE QUESTION OF THE SOUL 

A nation's thought that ever upwards tends 
Shall build a wall that sterling truth defends; 
A wall that rises in adversity- 
Strong with the God-Like strength of Liberty. 
The seed divinely planted there shall bloom 
On sun-kissed hill side or through arid gloom 
Of tunnelled traffic ways, seeking its goal, 
The fragrant flower of a nation's soul. 
Not tares within the wheat, or choking weed, 
To bind the heart of man to evil deed ; 
But light unto the world, a recompense, 
For our great Sovereign's beneficence. 

The question ever faces us, shall we 
Rise with our country's thought, give graciously 
The higher self that in the conscience lies, 
Or shall our souls be slaves where honor dies? 
Our harvest here, what shall the portion yield, 
The Judas portion of the Potter's Field? 
Like Esau's harvest — shall we barter it? 
And leave across the Book Of Life — The Infinite — 
The traitor's mark? Or shall the souls of us 
Rise at our journey's end victorious? 
The question faced us every step we trod; 
The answer rests between ourselves and God. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



DOUBT— 

Reluctantly I stood, 

Bleak doubt was reaching out bold arms to me: 

Reward came only to mad spirits free 

Who sang of wanton revelry; 

Yet somewhere was the good. 

I looked above the blue, 
Hushed in a calm a glowing cloudlet red, 
Clear as a flame upon the heavens spread, 
This message from the noble dead: 
To honor's ways be true. 

Truth sanctifies the sod — 

Not as a wanderer to passion's goal — 

But in humility and self-control, 

Truth lights the paths that bind the eager soul 

To bear the torch of God. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



A SONG FOR IRELAND 

There's a call from the west, 'tis a call of men, 
From a nation where hearts are breaking, 
They are seeking a place in the world again, 
That the councils of freedom are making; 
There's a call in my heart that answers you, 
Dear Island my eyes have seen never, 
The spirit of Emmett is keeping me true, 
To Freedom For Ireland Forever. 

There's a joy in my heart for that land serene, 

Where Patrick's great mission was given ; 

Every step that he trod through her shamrocks 

green, 
Brought a soul to our Father in heaven ; 
Dear land of my people in grief and care, 
Thy courage undaunted shines ever — 
The souls of thy heroes are hovering there, 
For Freedom For Ireland Forever. 

There's a call from the land that longs to greet 

The joy of a free world's morning; 

With a banner of green that has scorned defeat, 

The emblems of freedom adorning; 

And the shamrocks will bloom where O'Connell 

lies, 
While hearts in a free land breathe ever, 
A prayer to our Father Who ruleth the skies, 
For Freedom For Ireland Forever. 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



MARY IMMACULATE! 

Mary Immaculate! Queen of the infinite 
Realms of Heaven, I call upon thee, 

Hope of the desolate, hear the disconsolate, 
In thy sweet mercy have pity on me. 

Mother Inviolate! Be my dear advocate; 

One ray of light in the darkness I see; 
Shine softly down on us, star of the universe, 

In thy sweet mercy have pity on me. 

Thou art so near to the Saviour who died for us, 
No other hope in my sorrow I see; 

Ask him to pardon the heart that has wounded him, 
In thy sweet mercy have pity on me. 

Gentle and innocent Maid of the Orient, 
Chosen of God, His dear Mother to be; 

From this dark wilderness, lead me to happiness, 
In thy sweet mercy have pity on me. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



LEST WE BE JUDGED 

In the near circle of thy daily meetings, 
When others criticize the absent friend, 

For hateful deeds or harsh words quickly spoken; 
Keep thine own Counsel even to the end. 

The golden veil of silence often censures 

The ready tongue and mischief-loving mind; 

A hint ignored, a question left unanswered, 
Give evil hearts no chance to be unkind. 

And in thy heart has kindness been a stranger, 
Or is there still a spot from anger free; 

When thy turn comes on God's great day of 
judging, 
That little spot will sweetly plead for thee. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



THE MOTHER HEART 

Close in the guarding that the Angel Of Death 
Over the churchyard keeps; 
Safe from the fury of the storm king's breath, 
A gentle mother sleeps. 

Within the shadow that the maple throws 
Across the grass-grown mound ; 
Sheltered from summer sun and winter snows 
Her resting place is found. 

Sweet as the violets that make their home 
Above her quiet breast; 

White as the marble bands around her tomb, 
They laid her down to rest. 

Is she rejoicing where the angels roam, 
Bearing the joyful part? 
Is she still pleading for the ones at home, 
Missing the mother heart? 

Calmly her gentle spirit waiting stands, 
Beneath the Saviour's throne, 
Until the guiding of the angel's hands, 
Shall bring her loved ones home. 



65 



The Search for the Holy Spirit 



GRATITUDE 

Hope of my weary soul, bearing for me 
All that sad anguish on Calvary's tree; 
What shall I bring to Thee, what shall I do 
To prove my heart will be faithful and true? 

Nations adoring Thee; kings at Thy call, 
Yielding their crowns to Thee, Ruler of all; 
In Thy great majesty, gentle and sweet, 
Thou lookest down on me here at Thy feet. 

All that I asked of Thee Thou gavest me ; 
My heart turns gratefully ever to Thee; 
All that I love the best gladly I bring 
To lay at Thy feet, my Saviour and King. 

Through death's dread mystery, feeble — alone, 
I'll have to pass ere I kneel at Thy throne; 
Strange is the way, and dark, Lord, let me see 
One ray of heaven's light shining for me. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



ON CALVARY MOUNTAIN 

Who is that Wounded One peacefully sleeping 
On the rough mountain side under the rood? 
What is that sound we hear, hush ! 'tis the weeping 
Of Mary the mother of God. 

Down from that heavy rough cross they have taken 
Lifeless and bleeding her innocent Son; 
Blows cannot reach him now, tears cannot waken 
The sleep that His suffering has won. 

See the dark clouds that the heavens are calling, 
White-faced the watchers stand, silent with fear; 
Mary has seen them not, her tears are falling; 
The hope of her sad heart lies here. 

Sees she her Infant Son smiling to cheer her; 
Thinks she of Bethlehem's wonderful night; 
Sees she His dear angel face lying near her, 
So still in the fast fading light. 

Sweet was His welcoming, joyous the greeting, 
"Glory to God on high, peace cometh now;" 
Ah ! but the pitiful stains that are greeting 
The thorns they have placed on His brow. 

Prayerfully, softly they gather around her, 
Gently they plead, while the storm gathers on, 
Vain is their comforting, sorrow has found her 
Beside the still heart of her son. 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



TWO GHOSTS WENT WALKING AT 
MARBLEHEAD 

Two ghosts went walking at Marblehead 
When a weird west wind was blowing; 
No footsteps followed the path they led 
Over rock-rimmed sea dunes going, 
But ever they spoke of the honored dead, 
And a debt that the world was owing. 

With faces turned towards the storm-swept skies 

They mounted a path entwining 

A craggy cliff where the wild waves rise, 

In the pale moon's eerie shining; 

And their thoughts were of faith that never dies, 

And the crown of the silver lining. 

One ghost was tall with a kingly air, 

Nobility's mantle showing, 

The other was winsome and sweet and fair, 

With her graceful garments flowing; 

And the knowledge of all the world was there, 

In their clear, calm vision glowing. 

High over the storm a silver lure 
Swept out o'er the surge tipped sighing; 
"Oh, Hear Ye the Ghost of Literature, 
And Poetry's wistful crying, 
And Seek Ye the Pinnacled Pathway Pure, 
And the Golden Deed Undying." 

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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



MOTHER OF GOD 

Mother of God, Immaculate, thou shinest, 
Earth's bright ideal gem of purest light; 
Mother of Him, Whose gentle hand entwineth 
The human heart within the Infinite. 

Mother of God, our souls delight to name thee; 
We, too, would tread the pathway of a star; 
And falter on while heaven bends to claim thee, 
Within the regions where God's angels are. 

Mother of God, Blest influence inspiring, 
Beyond the landscape of eternity, 
Reach out thy hands, the interim transpiring, 
And make thy gift to God the heart of me. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



FRATERNITY 

Hold not thy life so full of care or labor, 

That thou can'st never see, 

When sorrow's shade has fallen on thy neighbor, 

And he has need of thee. 

For time rolls swiftly on and joys come rarest, 

When age has crowned the years; 

And hearts are hiding deep — where smiles are 

fairest — 
In wells of unshed tears. 

It is not meet that ours should be the pleasure 

Of joys that never cease; 

Each heart must know the depths of sorrow's 

measure 
Before that heart finds peace. 

And even little words of kindness spoken, 
In sweetest charity, 

May heal the wounded heart and be a token, 
Of sympathy from thee. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



IN MEMORY OF RICHARD CRICK 

Died March 16, IQ17 

When first I knew Richard I held aloof — 

He had his life to live and I had mine — 

No friendship would I give, merely the proof 

Of service measured by the dollar line; 

His kindly helpfulness I would not see; 

What need was there of friendship's gift from me. 

And then as through a mist I came to know 
The radiant story that his life work told: 
The brave endeavor that in steadfast glow 
All star-like shone for minds of lesser mould ; 
And through it all a quiet strength that proved 
His faithful loyal trust in those he loved. 

Swiftly the busy years rolled on; there came 
Quite silently to me a vision rare, 
That breathed a reverence for Richard's name: 
It seemed the hand work of my God was there, 
That I might learn before the journey's end 
Immortal truths from one who was my friend. 



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The Search for the Holy Spirit 



ANN AND CATHERINE 

Two little elves with flying feet, 
So artlessly have captured me, 
That luring dreams of reverie 
Recede before them in defeat; 
Yet whether naughty, whether good, 
I would not change them if I could. 

Two little elves with laughing eyes, 

Impelled by elfin energy, 

Have made creative fancies flee, 

And now inert ambition lies; 

Yet whether naughty, whether good, 

I would not change them if I could. 



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